Fracture - Book One of the Glass Galaxy Trilogy

Chapter 5: Cargo

2:13 PM

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, fighting down the anger boiling up inside me. "You're gonna need to spend more time inside that tank later," I said to Reaper, "but for now, I need you to get your pirates off my ship."

She nodded, "That's fair. Give them much longer and you'll probably never see your cargo again."

I stepped over to the bio-restorative tank and lowered it down, helping Reaper haul herself out and rinsing her off with the extendable hose built into the wall.

"Ugh," she said, disgusted, coughing fluid out of her lungs. "You don't feel it while you're inside, but this stuff is sticky. How am I gonna get dry?"

I smiled lightly, "I can't really do anything to help you there, you're just gonna have to dry off your clothes later. Now please, we need to go stop your crew from stealing my stuff."

I re-donned my armour, and the three of us went down to the cargo bay. When we arrived, we were greeted by the sight of my few remaining ADAs holding two of the pirates hostage, their forearm carbines held to the greasy heads of their victims, while the rest of the pirate crew was spread throughout the large room. They were using the large dark grey shipping containers for cover, one of which had its heavy lid ajar, and their weapons were trained on the robots. The situation was clearly liable to erupt into a firefight at any moment.

"Weapons down, you idiots!" Reaper shouted, breaking the stifling stillness.

Her crew looked at her in surprise and relief, then raised their voices in objection. One of them, a rather tall, lean man in his mid-thirties wearing the black armour of Reaper's personal squad raised a hand to get her attention, "With all due respect Captain, why?"

As I had expected, the pirates were undisciplined. They questioned the orders of their Captain, and that was unacceptable. They would need to be shaped up if they were to become members of my navy, and people like these only responded to one type of discipline.

Reaper began to speak, her face set in a scowl, but I cut her off by quickly taking three long steps forwards and backhanding the man hard enough to send him stumbling to the ground. "You will lower your weapons when your Captain orders, or I will leave you unable to raise them! Got it!?"

The man stared up at me, eyes wide, his face turning a sharp red, and his weapon, a moderately sized flamethrower, laying on the floor behind him. I could feel the dangerous weight of the other pirates' stares on me.

I glowered down at him. "Rise!" I barked.

He scrambled to his feet, standing up straight with his arms held firmly to his sides, nervously staring straight ahead.

I cast my gaze over the rest of the crew, eyeing them sharply one by one. Most of them looked none too happy with me, but they didn't speak up, and I gestured to Reaper to continue.

"Lower your weapons!" she ordered again. "Last time I ask."

The crew relented, and they slowly holstered their weapons, staring at me with the defensive gaze of a fox deciding how best to defend itself. They were a motley bunch; their hair looked like it had been trimmed short with a rusty knife, plastered down with the grease of someone who hadn't showered in at least a week, and their clothing was a patchwork of light leather armour and tattered cloth, food and dirt caked on sporadically. Their weapons were an assortment of ballistic rifles and pistols, most of dubious quality, complemented with an array of knives and swords held haphazardly in each of their belts. Among them I recognized a few more of Reaper's personal squad, their equipment better designed and maintained and their appearances much more presentable.